A Drunk Man's Words
by soda-denial
Summary: Drabble. House and Wilson are drunk on House's couch... again. The special slash-glasses may be needed to see any slash that may or may not be there.


**Disclaimer** : Even when I become famous, I'm sure I still won't own House MD.

**Characters** : House, Wilson

**Warnings** : Nothing, unless you have the special slash-glasses on . . .

* * *

**A Drunk Man's Words Are . . .**

**T**hey were both extremely drunk. Drunk enough to be screaming the answers to questions on Jepordy. At 3:00am, on a Wednesday night.

"Wuh-What is . . . CANCER!" Wilson yelled and slurred at the same time. He burst into hysterical giggles. It was probably the twentieth time he'd said that particular answer, and it only got funnier each time.

House, who sat right beside him, was laughing as well, although much less enthusiastically. Even when drunk, he had to remain partially in character.

Finally, after a few more questions, and a few more times of Wilson yelling about cancer, Jepordy was over. House smirked at Wilson's devastated expression as the host of Jepordy called out the name of the man who'd won. Wilson was sure he'd had it.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes before Wilson seemed to realize what time it was. "W-Woah . . . I gutta gooooooo," he mumbled, in a very inebriated way. Wilson struggled to stand up, but found House's couch quite impossible to escape.

Wilson's eyes began to water and he started to whimper, as he continued the futile struggle against gravity and the couch. House just sat there laughing at his companion. It wasn't until Wilson flung himself across the couch (and House), that House stopped laughing.

"Whada'hellareyoudoing?" House asked, making all his words into one.

Wilson scrunched his eyes closed. "I'm stuck." A moment passed, in which House tried to come up with a witty comeback. Wilson's eyes flew open suddenly. "House, you bastard!" he screamed, thrusting a finger in the face of the older doctor.

"Huh?" House asked, for lack of a better question.

"You trapped me here on purpose!" Wilson screamed. He began to wiggle around on the couch, and, thusly disturbing House's leg.

"Ah!" House yelled in surprise. Wilson immediately jumped off the other male. His eyes began watering again.

"I'msorry!I'msorry!I'msorry!I'msorry!" he yelled. House just pointed across the room at the orange pill bottle.

Wilson hurried and wobbled across the room and grabbed the container. He stumbled and fell on his way back, but got right back up and handed House his Vicodin.

House popped a couple and waited for the medicine to sink in. Wilson took a seat beside House on the couch, again.

"I'm sorry," he said, again. "I don't want to hurt you . . . I never wanna hurt you." House grunted in response. " . . . Should I leave?" Wilson asked after a moment.

House shrugged, in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. Wilson was fooled (possibly because of the level of inebriation.) Wilson relaxed back into the couch, noticing that the tv was still on. His attention was automatically captured once more.

House switched the channel and found some info-mercials. They sat in perfect silence; Wilson intently focused on the screen, and House intently focused on not focusing on the pain in his leg.

House's eyes wandered to Wilson's profile. He began to wonder why Wilson was not at home today. Maybe Cutthroat Bitch had been too much for him. Or maybe he'd just wanted to spend some time with his friend. House couldn't figure out which reason he liked better.

After a moment, House realized that Wilson had passed out, and was lightly snoring. House stood up, wobbling slightly. Wilson instantly slumped over sideways on the couch. House hadn't even noticed that Wilson had been leaning on him.

House hobbled drunkly to his bedroom and fell down into his bed. Despite the imminent hang over he knew was coming, he'd still managed to dub this evening pleasant.

He mumbled himself to sleep about simple and ridiculous things he'd heard come out of Wilson's mouth that night. House fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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Wow. Three new drabbles in the past five days.  
That's more writing than I've done in the past few months.

-Taryn


End file.
